


Emergency Action Plan

by Vrunka



Series: Fire Safety Compliance [4]
Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, M/M, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-18
Updated: 2018-05-18
Packaged: 2019-05-08 16:17:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14697807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vrunka/pseuds/Vrunka
Summary: Guilt Dep needs to be distracted from. And if there’s anything Sharky is good at beyond starting fires and getting weird about hearing that his new best friend is gay, it’s being a goddamn effective distraction.





	Emergency Action Plan

It’s almost embarrassing how quickly they fall into what Sharky can only call a routine. Dep letting himself into Sharky’s trailer late late late at night. Curling up in Sharky’s bed.

Half the time—honesty hour like seventy-five percent of the time—they don’t even bang. Dep will just lock his arms around Sharky’s middle and spoon up behind him and fall the fuck to sleep.

Cuddling.

It’s goddamn cuddling.

And it gets to the point where the nights when Dep doesn’t come barging into Sharky’s home without knocking (because no he never knocks and it’s not something they’re going to discuss because at this point Sharky would rather not know) are more infrequent and distressing than when he does.

Usually, long stints away mean a cagier Dep when he finally does show back up.

Like tonight.

Where he’s hollow-eyed and trembling as he collapses into the bed. The skin of his chest is clammy, pressed against Sharky’s back and his heartbeat going and going.

“You okay?” Sharky says, turning his head enough to see Dep’s profile in the dark.

Usually Sharky doesn’t ask because Dep doesn’t answer. Tonight is no different, Dep sighs through his nose, eyes sliding closed. “Didn’t mean to wake you,” he says.

“I don’t mind. You look like hell, my dude.”

Dep grins in that way that he does when Sharky says something that he wants to find offensive and can’t. His hair is a mess, sticking up at odd angles. Bags beneath his eyes. Sharky turns and runs a thumb across the expanse of Dep’s cheekbone.

Dep swallows, catches Sharky’s hand, stopping the circuit. “Jacob is dead,” he says.

This is good news. It shouldn’t be delivered with so dire an expression. Sharky smiles, baffled.

“For real? Fuck man, we should be celebrating! That’s...that’s rad, Dep.”

But Dep’s heart is still beating, beating; Sharky can see it in his throat, and Dep’s eyes are still flitting around, never still. Nerves. Or something.

“Sorry,” Dep says, after a beat, “I’m sorry, you’re right, I just—“ He sighs again, heavier, plasters himself more tightly to Sharky’s side. “It’s just weird, I guess. I’m not really...really sure how to feel.”

“Should feel good,” Sharky says. “Was the right thing to do.”

“Maybe.”

Maybe.

Sharky sits up. “Dep.”

“No, yeah. Of course. I just—“

“You just?”

“I don’t know. Forget it, okay? I don’t know what I’m thinking. Just tired.”

“Fuckin’ exhausted, I’m sure.”

Dep nods. He licks his lips. Wrath the word on his chest reads, LUST cut above his beltline, Blasphemy carved over his heart. John’s death had not shaken him this much. Sharky traces a finger over the tattoo, he watches Dep flinch.

It’s not fair of course, Dep taking on the burden on the entire County. Working so tirelessly and so hard for people he doesn’t even know.

“I’m sorry,” Dep says again.

“For what?”

Dep shrugs. He sits up to press his lips to Sharky’s cheek. Little intimacies they’re both becoming more accustomed to. Sharky lets himself be tugged down into Dep’s embrace once more, stomach flipping at how easy Dep makes it seem. Moving Sharky around like it is nothing.

The tickle of his trimmed beard as it scrapes down Sharky’s sternum, teeth bared, heedless of Sharky’s chest hair, dragging down and down until Dep is quite literally nuzzling against Sharky’s dick.

“Can I,” he breathes, down there against the skin.

God, yes, Sharky thinks, cock twitching, Jesus please please.

“Knock yourself out,” Sharky says. And he manages to sound almost detached as the words leave him. Nonchalant.

Dep throws one of Sharky’s legs over his shoulder to press even closer, wedging just beneath Sharky’s ass. Sweaty. Dep’s hands are still sorta trembling too. Those little tells of...of whatever it is that has Dep on edge.

Guilt.

Some bizarre, misplaced guilt.

That Dep needs to be distracted from. And if there’s anything Sharky is good at beyond starting fires and getting weird about hearing that his new best friend is gay, it’s being a goddamn effective distraction.

He watches his dick, sliding between Dep’s lips, getting harder as Dep works over him. The messy drip of saliva that should be beyond gross, but is really stupid hot. Dep hollows his cheeks on every backslide, maddening, overwhelming suction. Sharky’s toes curl on Dep’s shoulder-blade.

“God,” Sharky says. “Yeah, Dep. Shit. Hey. You uhh you can fuck me, you know.”

Dep looks up. Eyes catching the moon, irises almost black in the darkness. He lifts his head, swallows.

They haven’t gone so far, though the slide into it has felt inevitable. Dep’s fingers in Sharky’s ass—curling and pressing and causing a whole lot of sensation that Sharky doesn’t know exactly how to handle—has been their best achievement so far. But he’s aiming for the gold star here, the trophy, the prize.

“We don’t have to. I’m not unhappy with this,” Dep says. Moving his hand up and down Sharky’s cock in emphasis. Fuckin’ cheating. Dirty, low-down son of a bitch.

Sharky twists his hips away. “I mean, shit, dude. I’m not either but I...wanna. If-if-if you wanna, that is.”

Dep licks his lips. He scratches lightly at the skin pulled taut over Sharky’s hip, the slight swell of his belly that he is coming to terms with as a beer gut. “Of course I want to.”

“Okay. Well...I mean. There we are. Uhhh ‘open sesame’ or uh whatever the magic words would be. ‘Fuck my ass’, amigo.”

Dep snorts. The corners of his eyes crinkle. “Christ, don’t say it like that.”

“Nah? Don’t wanna hear about how I want your huge dick to rail me into next Saturday?” Sharky flexes, arches his back. The move is clumsy, Dep is too far down him to really grind against, but the intent is readable all the same.

Dep’s pupils blow wide. Every breath sounds like it is wrenched from between his teeth. “You still have that lube?” he asks.

Somewhere. Sharky stretches, ignoring the protest in his arm and wrist as he digs beneath the bed. Dep’s weight across his legs the only thing keeping him from spilling onto the floor in a very undignified heap.

He comes up with the prize, grinning, face hot from the rush of blood. The cap is askew, the bottle is sticky from leakage. But he has it.

Dep doesn’t grin, but Sharky can read the amusement all the same. “Fantastic,” he says, flatly.

“Least it’s here,” Sharky answers back. Pressing his knee tight against Dep’s side.

Dep rolls his eyes. Moves Sharky’s legs so their more situated around his hips. Exposed. His junk all just out there and hard for the both of them to see, leaking against his stomach, moist from Dep’s mouth, making as mess in the tangled hair beneath his belly button.

Sharky looks away and won’t think about the face Dep is making as he looks down at him.

The desire painted so plainly in his slight grin. His narrowed eyes. Revelations that are still uncomfortable. That this isn’t just some weird, passing fascination. The closest warm body. Dep’s magpie sensibility, taking the nearest shiny object home to roost simply because he can.

He wants Sharky.

Fuckin’ wants him, dumb as that sappy nonsense is.

And Sharky...well he’s equally as fucked he supposes. Has been for awhile, since he really started dwelling on it.

And he’s about to be even more so. Quite literally.

Quite.

Dep’s fingers are chill and wet with lube as they slide along his crack. As the first one presses up and then in.

In.

It still feels strange. Weird. Sharky likes to thinks he’s spent a lot of his adult life expanding his personal horizons, but fingering himself had never really fallen remotely on or adjacent to or in the same universe as that list. So it’s foreign, the stretch of his body around Dep’s thick fingers. Not uncomfortable, easily manageable, but not something he thinks he could become accustomed to.

But he’s been wrong before, plenty of times, and the longer Dep takes—enjoying it, clearly, watching Sharky’s face as he sinks in to the knuckle and then drawing it back and back, slow, slow, slow—the more the weirdness starts to become more like something else. 

“Fuck, Dep,” Sharky says. His hips are starting to hurt, holding his legs so open, but even that is secondary. Peripheral to the sharp edge of desire he’s feeling. The ache for more.

To give more.

Take more.

Just. Just. A little.

Dep squints, twists, fingers pressing faster, more insistently and Sharky hisses and recoils all at once. Dep does it again, quick succession. Holding his breath and pulling the trigger. A goddamn surgeon when he wants to be.

“Yeah,” Sharky hears himself saying. “Yeah, okay, okay,” and he still sounds so fuckin’ together that he can hardly comprehend it. “That’s cool, that’s cool.”

Dep snorts. Leans down to pepper kisses across Sharky’s cheek. Pausing over his lips. Like Sharky gives a shit at this point. Getting stuck up about his own taste still lingering in Dep’s mouth is for some wimpy, lame Sharky from years ago. Or like two and a half months. Or whatever.

Point is: he’s grown.

He tilts his head and all but jams their mouths together. Teeth click, tongues tangle. Dep’s fingers feel like the vibrate against Sharky’s prostate, merciless.

Because he’s a goddamn mannerless cheat.

“Fuck,” Sharky breathes, breathless now, breaking away from Dep’s mouth. “If you don’t get on with it, I’m gonna be done before we even start.”

Dep shudders. “For real?” he asks.

“No. I’m trying to boost yer fuckin’ ego. Yes, for real, goddamn it.”

Dep chuckles. Spreads his fingers once, twice more. Sharky can just feel the stretch of it, but it isn’t uncomfortable like he had imagined it could be.

“Okay, okay,” Dep relents. Then his fingers are gone, and his weight is gone as he shuffles off his boxers and kicks them away. Sharky can hear the sound of him rustling around again.

And then the very distinct sound of foil ripping, the crinkle of a condom wrapper. Somehow, despite everything, it’s that that gets Sharky blushing. Covering his face with his hands. Dep the fuckin’ cop, law enforcement.

Safety first.

Dep folds himself back into Sharky’s space like he had never been gone. It only takes a little prompting for him to get Sharky’s legs right back where he had left them, cradling Dep’s hips, ankles locking behind Dep’s back.

“If there’s...if it hurts,” Dep says, “you tell me right away, okay?”

“Safety first,” Sharky says. His voice is too thick, it doesn’t come out as lightly as he means.

Dep touches his cheek. “I’m serious.”

“Yeah...I know. I got that.”

“Okay. I just...don’t want you. You’re not obligated to see this—I mean—“

“Dep, I get it. You’re gonna be that bad a lay I’ll be sick of it by like the third thrust. Don’t worry, bromie, I’ll let you know.”

Dep flushes. The coloring goes all the way down to his collarbone. He shifts, minutely, and then the head of his dick catches and he pushes in.

Which is another, wholly weird experience, thank you very much for askin’.

On one hand, while the stretch is definitely more noticeable, it’s still alighting along those nerves that had been getting interested while Dep had spent like six hours fingering him open. On the other hand, the stretch is really more like getting stuffed in the ass by a rubber coated eight inch rod.

Sharky feels too full. His eyes sting. It’s bearable, it’s more than bearable, but Jesus it’s huge. Dep’s fuckin’ packing. It shouldn’t be legal or or or—

“I’m flattered, Shark, but please,” Dep says against his cheek. Words bitten out. Sweat on his brow, the strain evident, though Sharky isn’t sure from what. “I’m gonna come if you keep that up.”

Keep what up?

Sharky licks his lips, blinking. Realizing he’s been babbling his internal monologue again. Only seems to happen around Dep, saying what comes to mind with even less of a filter than usual, flying out of his mouth as soon as he has thought it.

“Sorry,” Sharky says.

“Don’t be. You feel okay?”

The true answer is more a vague sort of sound, not really a yes or a no. It doesn’t feel good, yet, but it doesn’t really hurt so Sharky settles for. “I’ll be fine, man, let’s do this thing. Fuck my a—“

Dep shuts him up with a very firm kiss. Close-mouthed, grinning. His hips move, start to move, drawing back, back the same way his fingers had. That slow, teasing kind of speed. He pushes back in at a slightly faster pace. Again. Again.

There’s three and Sharky doesn’t feel sick yet. He’s starting to feel better in fact. Dep makes a face, that concentration that seems to come from the center of his brow, lining up his shot. He moves Sharky’s legs, pushes them up so he can thrust at a different angle and there it is.

Good feelings.

Sharky groans, he huffs, his body shivers on Dep’s cock.

“There,” Dep asks. Grinning cuz he already knows. Sharky pushes at his shoulder, weakly. Doesn’t answer because another jab of Dep’s dick right against his prostate has him clawing at the sheets and arching into it, speechless beyond a strangled hiss of Dep’s name.

It’s good, it’s good. Sharky is aware his saying as much, one hand clutching at Dep’s shoulder, sliding up his neck, pulling at his beard. “Hnn fuck, Dep, just like that.”

The stimulation is all too much, dragging Sharky closer and closer to done without any real promise of delivering. Winding him up and up and up and—

Dep’s hand on his cock stutters the thought. Shatters it. Fingers clutching at him, giving him something to thrust against. They’re still sticky with lube; the knowledge that those were in him—fuckin’ inside of him, filthy and fluttering—is what gets him there.

He comes so hard he actually whites out for a second. The only sound in the world is the bass line of his heartbeat and the roaring of it in his ears. He sinks into it, revels in it.

It lasts forever.

Until it just no longer is.

Dep is above him. Motionless, biting his lip, looking down on Sharky’s face. His skin is silver in the moonlight, little drops of sweat on his forehead, one rolls down his cheek.

“You good?” Dep asks.

“Fuckin’ stellar, my dude.”

Dep groans. His hips shift, still hard, buried in Sharky’s body. Raking Sharky’s fried nerves as Dep pulls out and pushes back in. Not quite a quick a pace as he had worked up to, but still fast enough Sharky grunts in complaint, body overstimulated, overworked.

“Sorry,” Dep says.

“Nah. It’s—do what you gotta. Wanna see you come, Dep.”

Which is something he’s pretty sure he’s heard in porn, cheesy and not their usual brand of silly but it does the job. Dep’s head rolls forward, he hikes one of Sharky’s legs back over his shoulder and bears down. Fucking into Sharky’s willing body at a punishing pace. Breathless, panting.

He’s a mess, sweaty and red-cheeked. When he comes it’s shuddering and stilted and final. He falls slightly forward, head coming to rest on Sharky’s shoulder. Grip on Sharky’s leg loosening, letting it down.

They lay there in the dark for a few minutes before Dep moves. Rolls off Sharky to lay spooned on his side.

“You okay?” Dep asks. He sounds almost hesitant. His beard tickles against Sharky’s shoulder.

“Yeah man. Still trying to...whew just uhh still—“

“Fucked you speechless, huh? Here I would have thought that impossible.”

“Yeah. Definitely not what they would have tried in school to get me to shut up. If only they had known. I coulda been down with Miss Amelia the student teacher pegging me. That’s kinda hot actually.”

“God, you’re so...” Dep smiles, trailing off. Nuzzles his face against Sharky’s shoulder, all sweaty skin, slicking together. Only not gross cuz Sharky is stupid enamored.

It’s not just hero worship, though there is some of that too. Scars and bruises and that goddamn tattoo. Things Dep’ll carry for the rest of his life. And for what?

For Hope County.

For Sharky, in a roundabout way.

Sharky turns on his side, dragging Dep with him, keeping him close. The way they had started the night, only now so much better. Sharky’s eyes close. His muscles settle.

And then from nowhere:

“I’m worried I’m starting to think they’re right,” Dep says. Breathes. Hardly there at all even in the silence between the two of them. “What if I am just some...some wrathful killing tool. No mercy. No purpose. Just death. I...I’m doing what I have to, what everyone needs me to but I...I didn’t ask for this. How obligated am I to—shit. I dunno.

“I’m not the hero Wheaty or Jerome or Whitehorse seem to think that I am. I’m just not,” he finishes. Still so quiet. Whispered and secret and raw. His breath held like he is waiting for Sharky to answer.

But what can Sharky say?

He stares at the far wall. His window. The moon. Dep’s breathing evens out behind him. Dep’s hand relaxes on his hip. Little clues Sharky knows means he has fallen asleep.

It takes a long, long time for Sharky to follow.

**Author's Note:**

> There’s one more after this which I had actually written mostly first before realizing I needed a break between heavy stuff. Hope you guys enjoyed this!! As always comments and kudos are appreciated!


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